Wonder
A bughead drabble inspired by a word.
********************
You wondered when she knew, when it became perfectly clear that she made you grin and say things that you hoped she would think clever.
You wondered if she caught you staring that one time, and if she did, did you actually convince her that you were staring at something behind her?
Did she notice how utterly speechless you were when she showed up along the side of the football field, alone, wearing her cheer leading uniform for the first time, just to make sure you were there, as promised? You wondered why you had to be there, but you did show up and she did smile when she saw you.
You wondered at what she said: “I’m so glad you’re here! I’m a little nervous, Juggie,” as if that explains everything, but you’re just happy you can help her in some way, any way.
“You have nothing to be nervous about, Betts. You’ve wanted this for a while. You’re gonna do great.”
You wondered if your words meant something then, because they seemed lame to you, but her smile was so bright and she looked so grateful that you felt an ache in your heart when she bounced on her toes, dropped a kiss on your cheek and whispered, “Thanks, Juggie.”
You wondered, for a mad moment, if it would be so bad if you never washed your face again. But, yeah, you figured it would be.
(But, oh, that kiss)
You wondered, incredulous, if her constant mention of the homecoming dance meant you would have to muster something and dare to ask her to it. You tried. You really did, but your father was too drunk to reassure you you’d have a suit for that shindig, and by the time you decided that she wouldn’t care if you showed up in a clown suit, Veronica had declared Betty was going with her and Archie.
So you supposed, rather than wonder, that you didn’t have to do the thing you thought you had to do. Betty was an independent woman, anyway.
But then you wondered, too, if you were all too easy to convince to go stag to this dance anyway, by Archie-with-the-two-dates, and if Archie was not as dumb as he let on (or maybe just as clever as Veronica made him to be), because now it was kind of like a double date that was sneakily orchestrated by this couple who were unironically calling themselves Varchie (ugh).
And now you are on this not-quite-accidental date. The flowers around Betty’s wrist came from your last $10, and the music was slow, the lights low, and you were sneaking a look at her beautiful face, and you’re wondering, should I?
“Betts,” you said, your voice cracking the slightest bit. “Doyouwannadance?”
“GodIthoughtyou’dneverask.”
You grasped her hand like you were afraid she would change her mind, even if you have no idea where your hands should go when you’re on the dance floor.
You end up with your hands around her waist and her arms are draped on your shoulders. You and she were never so close, and you think she’s even more beautiful up close like this.
Your beating heart slows as you begin to feel warm in Betty’s closeness. She’s one of your oldest friends. One of the best. She always remembered your birthday and knew the kind of cookies you loved best. She knew the things that mattered to you and the things you hated. She made you ache in parts of you that you never knew could ache.
You were softer with her. Your acerbic wit (a nicer way of describing your being a sarcastic asshole) was so easily dissolved by the way her green eyes fell on you or the affectionate grin she cast when you said something thorny to someone else.
“This is nice,” she said, smiling at you, as you swayed her gently to the music.
You wonder, then, if dying always felt this sweet.
******************
When Archie and Veronica disappeared and you wondered how you were going to get home, she took your hand and said, “It’s a nice night and my house isn’t that far away. Walk home with me and we can wait for Archie there. I’m sure he’ll be glad to invite you to sleep over at his house.”
That was the best idea of the night.
He wondered, out loud, if her high heels wouldn’t bother her, and she smiled, sweetly, and said, “You’re always thinking of me.”
That was so true.
So you and she walked, and you took shortcuts for her benefit, and she would giggle when you had to drape your coat over thorny bushes, held out your hand for her when she had to step precariously over things, when you gave her your arm but she draped hers over your shoulders, instead, you wondered if you should even dare to hope.
When the jump down a ledge was particularly high, you held her aloft, your arm wrapped around her waist for a second longer, fascinated by the way she let you, and when you arrived at her front door, she said, “Do you want to wait in Archie’s treehouse?”
You nod, because it was the place you first met her and the place you realized, years later, that you would do anything for her.
That treehouse held wondrous epiphanies, and perhaps it would hold room for one more.
You wondered if being a gentleman meant you had to climb first and spare her the awkwardness of making sure no one saw up her skirt, or climb after her to ensure her safety, or at least a soft landing, should she fall and you’d cushion her fall for her.
You were overthinking this so much that you didn’t even notice that she was already up there, her high heeled shoes piled by your feet on the grass.
You scrambled up there after her, the tinkle of her soft laughter like a feather along your neck, and you grinned when you hauled yourself up in your ill-fitting suit and scruffy black shoes.
The tree house felt smaller each time you went there, and you had to scooch closer to Betty so that you both can fit.
The light from the flashlight she held bobbed wildly as you shifted about, trying to get comfortable in the smallness, or maybe you were trying to find the best way to have as little space as possible between you and her without being too obvious about it.
Her skirt was voluminous, drowning you both in fluff and fabric, and you gently settled the puff just so you had an excuse to touch even the most remote extension of her.
She grinned and looked up at you in the dim lighting, and you realized the darkness felt intimate enough that you can do what you’ve wanted to do, with some pretense of courage.
You leaned over to touch your lips to hers. And when she didn’t push or pull away, you leaned even more, tentatively sliding your fingers along her jaw.
When instead of pulling away, you felt her lips part open, something else inside of you took over, and the innocence of your heart made room for red hot desire.
You’re not quite sure that you’re awake. You wonder if you’re dreaming, but the soft sounds she was making was filling your ears with music and your heart was beating a steady rhythm.
She whispered your name and pulled you even closer by the collar of your jacket, and now you know it’s real, and you know she wants this as much as you do.
You murmur against her lips. Her name. Just her name, because the stream of confessions in your head felt clunky amidst the softness of her lips or the graceful glide of her tongue with yours.
And when you and she finally decided that you really needed to breathe, she said, “I wondered whether you were going to kiss me tonight.”
You rubbed your nose lightly over hers. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”
She laughed, softly. “Now, you know.”
Now, he didn’t have to wonder so much.
